Cowboy's Got Rizz

Chapter 1

Claire

         Dressed in a designer gown that hugs my curves, I glide through the crowd of elite attendees. My long curly hair cascades down my back, swaying with each step.

The room is a blur of opulence—glittering chandeliers, crystal glasses clinking, and laughter that sounds almost too perfect.

I smile, the corners of my lips curving, and exchange pleasantries with people who only know me from magazine covers. The men look intrigued; the women seem to scrutinize every inch of my gown. It's exhausting.

A waiter passes by with a tray of champagne flutes, and I grab one without missing a beat. The bubbles tickle my nose as I take a sip.

“Claire!” Maritza, one of my model friends, waves at me, a glass of wine in her hand. “Honey, you look amazing!”

I smile politely. “Thank you. It’s Valentino.” I study her dress. “Your dress is to die for!”

Maritza walks away with a satisfied grin and I smile to myself. People are so easy to please.

As another wave of guests arrives, the noise level rises. My heart pounds harder against my ribcage.

I slip away from the group and head towards the balcony. The cool night air greets me like an old friend as I step outside.

Taking a deep breath, I lean against the railing and stare out into the night. Just for a moment, it's quiet—no cameras flashing or voices demanding my attention.

         The city's nightscape glitters like a million tiny diamonds, but my attention is pulled back to the room. The noise and laughter calls to me, so I step back in.

Walking through the room, I spot Senator Hayes, his graying hair unmistakable, engaged in a hushed conversation with Victor Roth, a well-known tycoon.

Victor's face is stern, his jaw set tight, while the senator's mouth forms a thin line.

They stand close enough that their words are private but far enough from the crowd to avoid eavesdroppers.

There's something off about their body language—their rigid postures, the occasional glances over their shoulders.

         I decide to mind my own business, as much as I’d like to know what’s got them so frustrated. I take a deep breath and down the last of my champagne.

 An hour later, I glide past a small, secluded area on my way to find the restroom. I freeze here I stand, managing not to gasp out loud.

There, in the shadows, stands Victor Roth. He hovers over Senator Hayes’s motionless body.

The senator's eyes stare blankly at nothing, his face frozen in an expression of shock. My heart slams against my ribcage.

My hand flies to my mouth. Victor's head snaps up, his eyes locking onto mine. For a split second, our gazes meet, and I see something cold and merciless in his eyes.

Panic surges through me.

My legs move before my mind catches up, and I take off running. My heels clack loudly against the marble floor as I weave through the hallways, my dress swishing around my legs.

My breath comes in ragged gasps, fear propelling me forward. The noise of the party grows louder as I approach the main ballroom again.

Laughter, music, and chatter envelop me like a protective shield. Faces blur together as I zigzag between groups of people.

I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting Victor to be right behind me with that knife still in his hand.

But he’s not there.

My pulse thunders in my ears, drowning out everything else.

People continue their conversations around me, oblivious to the horror I just witnessed. My fingers find one of my curls, twirling it as if it can somehow ground me in this surreal nightmare.

The crowd serves as my sanctuary for now—an anonymous mass that keeps Victor at bay if he’s even looking for me at all.

But what do I do next?

         Adrenaline surges through my veins, a raw, electric current.

I know I need to act fast.

Calling 911 isn't an option; Victor Roth has connections, I know that much about him.

My hands shake as I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts, landing on a name I haven’t touched in months—Senator Jonathan Carter, my ex.

I tap his number and type furiously

Emergency. Saw Victor Roth kill someone. He saw me. Need help NOW. Have to get away. I’m scared.

I hit send and grip the phone like a lifeline. Moments later, it buzzes.

“Claire? What happened?” His voice is tense, all business.

“I saw Victor Roth... and… and he saw me, Jonathan,” I whisper, glancing around to ensure no one overhears.

“Listen carefully,” he says. “You need to hide until my people get there. Find a secluded spot where no one will look for you. Text me where it is.”

“Okay,” I breathe, nodding even though he can’t see me.

“Go now. They’ll be there soon.”

I hang up and shove the phone into my clutch. My heart pounds as I scan the room for an exit strategy.

My eyes land on a small door partially hidden behind a velvet curtain—staff only, probably leading to the kitchen or service corridors.

I slip through the crowd, head down, and duck behind the curtain without drawing attention. The door opens easily, and I step into a dimly lit hallway that smells faintly of cleaning supplies and leftover hors d'oeuvres.

A storage closet catches my eye—a simple metal door, likely unoccupied at this hour. I twist the handle and slip inside, closing it gently behind me.

Minutes feel like hours as I wait, every creak or voice making my heart jump.

“Claire?” a voice eventually whispers from outside the door.

“Yeah?” I reply softly.

The door opens slightly, revealing a man in tactical gear—one of Jonathan’s people.

“We’re here to get you out safely,” he says, extending his hand.

Relief washes over me as I take it and step out of my hiding spot, ready to follow them to safety.

         We weave through the back halls until we reach a discreet exit. A black SUV waits, engine running.

“Get in,” the agent instructs, opening the door for me.

I slide into the backseat, and two more agents climb in, one on each side of me.

The SUV pulls away from the building swiftly but smoothly, merging into the city traffic as if nothing unusual has happened.

One of the agents speaks into his earpiece. “We have her. Victor Roth is in custody.”

Hearing that makes me breathe a little easier.

We drive for what feels like hours but is probably only thirty minutes before pulling up to an unmarked building.

The agents escort me inside quickly, guiding me through another series of hallways until we reach a small conference room.

“Claire Macmillan?” A man in a suit stands as we enter. His badge flashes briefly—FBI.

“Yes,” I nod, feeling both exhausted and relieved.

“Please have a seat.” He gestures to a chair across from him. “I’m Special Agent Daniels.”

I sit down, my hands resting on the table in front of me. “What happens now?”

Daniels leans forward, his expression serious but not unkind. “First, we need your statement about what you witnessed tonight. After that, we’ll discuss protective measures.”

I nod again and begin recounting everything—the gala, Senator Hayes’s conversation with Victor Roth, and finally witnessing the murder.

Daniels listens intently, occasionally jotting down notes but never interrupting.

When I finish, he looks up from his notepad. 

“Thank you for your cooperation. We’ll ensure your safety moving forward. We’re arranging for you to be placed in protective custody,” he explains calmly. “You’ll be relocated to an undisclosed location until we can secure your safety long-term.”